Page 137 of Only the Wicked

“Going right for it, huh?”

“Did you put them up to making the offer? You don’t actually want an investigation, but you want to force my hand. You want to trap me, don’t you?”

“Rhodes.” He says my name under his breath, and it’s a mix of a huff and muted anger. “You’re holding us back.”

“From a public offering?” I ask, seeking clarification I don’t need.

“From growth. Look, I get the ethical concerns.”

“Do you?”

He glares. “Yes, I do. But if you hold us back, someone else is going to do exactly what we want to do. The only way to guide the growth is to own it.”

“We do own it.”

“But you’re holding it back.”

A few heads turn and Miles smiles, nodding, recognizing he spoke loudly enough to garner attention.

“We can talk tomorrow.”

“We’ll need to,” I say. “Don’t think I’ll easily forget that you went behind my back in an effort to trap me. And if I know you, your end game is to kick me out of the company? Force me to step down.”

“It’s not what I want, man,” he says, tapping my elbow, as if a simple touch will sweep his backstabbing effort under the carpet.

“When you say it’s not what you want, is it what Alex wants? All those investor meetings he’s been pushing, the constant IPO pressure—has he been building a coalition against me? Are they looking for ways to force me out? Because you know me better than that, Miles. I won’t be forced out.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll swing by your hotel. This isn’t the place to have this discussion.” He steps away, effectively ending the conversation.

As Miles departs, Senator Crawford approaches. His wife is nowhere in sight.

“Wanted to ask you,” he says, one hand on his chest as if he’s pressing down a tie, yet he’s wearing a bowtie and cummerbund. “Any chance you have time to meet tomorrow, before you head home?”

“I do.”

“Great. I’ll shoot you a text in the morning.” He smiles, and I’m about to ask him where Glenda is when he smiles at someone nearby, pats my back and steps forward to a man I recognize as one of his fellow senators.

I watch him, wondering what he could want to meet with me about. Is it possible he’s going to push the Russian case? Or is he wondering if I took the bait? Dristol and Romanovich were quite cozy. Is Dristol operating on behalf of his boss?

Miles orchestrating pressure from one side, Crawford requesting a meeting from another. There are too many converging forces for coincidence.

When Sydney returns from the restroom, I fill her in as dinner is announced.

“Interesting,” she says. “What do you say we enjoy the evening and debate all the possibilities in the morning?”

It’s a wise suggestion. “As you wish, beautiful.”

She leans in and I brush my lips across her temple.

“This isn’t the place to talk it through,” she says, as if an explanation is needed. With a glossy smile, she adds, “And I feel like I’m at Cinderella’s ball. Will you be my prince?”

“Yes. But fair warning. If you lose a shoe, I won’t hunt for it. I’ll just buy another pair.”

“He wasn’t actually looking for the glass slipper. He was looking for her.”

I tap her bracelet.

“Lucky for me, these days life’s improved for the princes.”